


They Asked About Each Other

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU: Different First Meeting, Amazing, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sherlock, Blog, Explicit Sexual Content, First Date, Lestrade as Matchmaker, M/M, Reference to ACD stories, Saucy Talk, cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade knows two men who don't know each other. But he thinks they should. And he's right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Creeping Man

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got a back catalogue of 100 stories, so feel free to get lost within them. In 2016, we'll be slowing the pace a little, but we hope we've got enough to keep you entertained in between postings. **Our plan is to post once a month, so please subscribe.**
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments. They mean a lot -- sometimes they inspire new ideas and works, sometimes they just make us feel all warm inside. If you've got any story ideas, you can leave them in the comments or at JW's tumblr page, which can be found [here](http://ivefangirledandicantgetup.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading and liking and being a great community!

Sherlock strode down the street, walking past the uniformed officers and into the flat, climbing the stairs as he followed the sound of Lestrade's voice. He entered the room and saw the blood first. Then he saw the body. He turned to Lestrade, who was standing next to a man Sherlock had never seen before. The man looked too calm to be the person who lived here. He stood still, clutching a cane, and examining the room in a way Sherlock knew meant that the man was in a place and situation that was brand new to him. Sherlock glanced down at the body again.

"You've got a dead dog on your hands," he said to Lestrade. "Case solved."

John was staring at the tall man talking to Greg. Greg had explained that it was just like bringing John to the scene -- the man was basically a civilian, not really allowed to be there, but he was so good that Greg really had no choice. John had asked about why they didn't just hire the man and Greg had just laughed instead of answering. Apparently he didn't go for that sort of thing -- it was all about the thrill of puzzles. Now that John was watching him, he couldn't help wondering if this was all a big joke. 

Greg frowned. "It's not that -- the old man who lives here is missing. And he's been acting a bit . . . unusual," he added, raising his eyebrows in a way that meant the man was basically knocking at the door of insanity.

Sherlock looked around the room again, taking in the multiple diplomas hanging on the wall. He stepped closer to look at the dates. "Dementia?" he asked.

A young woman came into the room, doing her best not to look at the dead dog. "No," she said. "My husband is a brilliant man." She pulled out her phone and quickly pulled up a website before handing it to Sherlock. "This article was just recently published in The Lancet. He's a professor of neuroscience." She took the phone back and slipped it into her pocket. "His mind is fine -- it's just his behaviour . . ." She looked down at the dog. "He loved that hound, but I honestly think my husband killed it. And now he's gone." She sat down at the desk.

John crept over to her, hobbling a bit with his cane. He rested a hand on her shoulder as she cried.

Sherlock watched the man slowly creep across the room. He hadn't expected that -- he was walking like a man twice his age. He got himself back to the topic at hand. "When did your husband's behaviour start changing?" he asked the woman.

She wiped her face a bit and said, "Well, he was away the other week researching, and when he came back, something was just different . . . I thought it was exhaustion but it's only got worse . . ."

"Has he been violent towards you?" Lestrade asked.

"No, it's more . . . he's secretive and just . . . different, I don't know how to explain it."

"Mistress," Sherlock stated plainly.

Lestrade threw a glance at him, but the woman looked up and said, "No, he wasn't like that." She raised her hand and adjusted her hair a bit. "He was older . . . not a lot of interest in that, if you're going to force me to say it."

"Fine," Sherlock said. "This research your husband was doing. Do you know what it was about?"

"Vitality," she said. She reached around and shuffled through some papers on the desk. "Let me see if I can find his notes."

As she searched, Sherlock now looked at the new man again. Why was he here? He wasn't police, but Lestrade had clearly permitted his being on his scene. Why? Did Sherlock now have some competition in the consulting detective business? Was Lestrade setting the two of them up against each other to see who could get to the truth first? 

"Have you figured it out yet?" he asked, staring directly at the new man.

When no one spoke, John looked up, startling when he realised that the man was talking to him. "Excuse me?" he said

"Where the professor's gone . . . I presume that's why you're here," Sherlock said sharply, shooting a quick glance at Lestrade to let him know he was on to his game.

John looked at Lestrade in confusion. 

"He's not here to solve the case. That's why I called you," Greg said. 

John looked at Sherlock again and crossed his arms. There was something strange and accusatory about the man's gaze.

"Oh, I can't find his notes," the woman said, oblivious to the conversation that'd gone on around her. "It was some hormone or something . . . something to do with monkeys."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Sherlock said. "I know precisely what it was." 

Everyone turned their heads sharply to look at him.

"Your husband may have been brilliant, but he was also an idiot," he said. "That hormone does not help with vitality. That's quackery -- it's a hallucinogen, similar to lysergic acid, and highly addictive."

"My husband does not abuse drugs!" the woman shouted.

"Yes, I'm sure he's just been 'conducting research'," Sherlock said dismissively. "Tell him next time just to try sildenafil like the rest of the men his age do." He tightened his scarf and moved towards the door.

"Well, where is he?" the woman asked.

"Was his trip to India and how long ago did he get back?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, and about nine days," she answered.

"He's jonesing -- quite badly from the state of that dog," Sherlock said. "You can't get what he's looking for here in this country, so . . . it's likely he's abandoned any pretense of vitality research and is now simply out looking to score."

"Where?" Lestrade said. "I know you know."

Sherlock's eyes fell and then he whipped a piece of paper out of his pocket, scribbling a few locations onto it. "Try these first," he said. "He'll be obvious enough." He turned and left.

John didn't remember his mouth falling open, but he closed it quickly, looking at Lestrade who was already on his phone sending men to the locations Sherlock had written down. 

"So . . . he just solved it? Just in the five minutes he was in here?" he asked.

Lestrade looked up. "Well, we'll check it out, of course, but in truth he's usually right."

"But that's amazing," John said. 

Sherlock headed home. He wasn't thinking about the missing professor, though, he was thinking about the stranger. His movements were slow, but there was something about his face that made Sherlock think he was rather quick in the cleverness department. Lestrade had explained why the guy wasn't there -- to solve the mystery, which was clearly Sherlock's responsibility -- but he hadn't explained why he was there. For some reason, something about that got under Sherlock's skin. He had no idea why, but he knew himself well enough to know that if something affected him in this way, it must mean something. 

As he headed up the stairs, Mrs Hudson peeked out her door.

"Case?" she asked.

"Barely," Sherlock mumbled.

"Solve it?"

"Obviously."

"Want to come in for a cup of tea?" she asked.

"Not tonight," Sherlock said. "I think I'd like to be on my own." He went inside his flat and shut the door.

John thanked Greg for bringing him along on the case and made him promise to call again when he had a good one. Greg agreed easily. John knew he could tell why it was important to John, but he was glad that they weren't talking about it. Getting out of the flat, doing something interesting, meeting new people -- all those things should help him get used to being back in civilian life, help to keep away some of the dark thoughts that cornered him when he was alone. When he got back to his own flat he opened up his blog and wrote about a post describing the evening. It was pretty good, and he wondered if he should post it. He decided he'd ask Greg the next time he called, not wanting to do anything that might risk his getting another invitation out. As he read it over, he paused at the line he had written about the man in the long coat. John saved the draft and got ready for bed. His mind was still wandering to the stranger.


	2. The Ritual

Sherlock opened his eyes and the flat was bright. This was the third night in a row he'd fallen asleep on the sofa. He got up and made a cup of tea, which he took over to the desk to check his email.

_Need you for another missing person case. Can you help? -GL_

After sending the message to Sherlock, Greg called John and asked if he wanted to come along. "Hopefully no blood this time, probably just routine questioning about a missing person, but it's up at the Brunton estate. Thought you might get a kick out of seeing how the other half lives."

John grinned, already leaving his half-eaten breakfast to get dressed. "Clearly not any better than the rest of us if one of them's gone missing," he said. 

"I'll pick you up," Greg said before hanging up. 

John changed his clothes and, after grabbing his jacket, went to wait on the pavement for Greg. He wondered if Sherlock would be there again, eager to see him work. Then again, without a body, it didn't seem like there would be much for him to do there. Stifling the small disappointment, he waved as he saw the car approaching, climbing into the front seat with Greg. 

Sherlock was pleased to have something to do today, though Lestrade's details didn't seem very challenging or all that interesting either. But it was something. Besides it would give him a chance to ask about the stranger from the other night. He closed up his email and quickly took a shower, getting dressed and leaving.

As he and Greg walked to the house, John asked, "So does that mean your friend won't be joining us?" 

Greg shook his head. "I asked him to come, too. He sees things like . . . I don't know. I don't know how he does it. If there's any foul play he'll see it in the man's tie knot before I even suspect it."

John laughed at the slightly bitter tone in his friend's voice. "Well, as much as it bothers you, I want to see it in action again." 

Sherlock walked in, noticing Lestrade and the man and their laughter that stopped as he came into view. Which annoyed him.

"I looked over your notes in the taxi," Sherlock said. "A missing butler? Really, I'm needed for that?" 

"You just be the eyes of this while I ask my questions," Greg told him. 

John was already watching keenly, eager not to miss anything.

Sherlock rolled his eyes a little but followed Lestrade into a big room, moving quickly ahead of the other man for reasons that he knew but would never admit were probably quite immature. He immediately scanned the place before his eyes settled on the owners of the house, who looked precisely like the kind of couple who would have a butler go missing.

Greg started with the usual questions about when the man was last seen, both of them confirming he had been fired a few days ago. John didn't understand how that made the man 'missing' but Greg was already ahead of him, asking that very question. They told the story of the papers he was caught snooping through, and while they talked, John zoned out and shifted his focus to Sherlock.

"Have you looked for this so-called treasure he was reading about?" Sherlock asked.

"It doesn't exist," the wife said. "My grandfather was . . . eccentric, shall we say. He left letters all over the place describing strange rituals and making claims of all sort --"

"Trust me," her husband interrupted. "We are well aware of everything of value within the walls of our home."

"I'm sure you are," Sherlock said. "Could I see the papers?"

"Is that necessary?" the man asked Lestrade, who looked over at Sherlock, who let him know that the answer was yes.

"If you wouldn't mind," Lestrade said.

The man unlocked a desk drawer and handed the papers to Sherlock who scanned them. "Your butler has a key to your desk?" he asked.

"Of course not -- apparently he found the letters downstairs in the wine cellar. Because of their sentimental value to the family, I thought I should keep them safe," the man explained. 

"I see . . ." Sherlock said, still looking at the letters. Then he lifted his head and looked at the couple. "May I ask why you've called the police? The man is no longer in employment here. Why do you care if he's not been seen for a few days?"

"We --" the wife started but her husband interrupted her again. "He was with the family a long time so naturally we are concerned about his well-being."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "You care so much that you sacked a long term employee simply for stumbling across some old pieces of paper."

"Now just you wait a moment," the man said, moving a little towards them. "We've not done anything wrong here."

"It's just --" the wife started again, glancing at her husband for approval. "One of the cooks has gone as well . . ."

"Was she also fired?" Lestrade asked.

"No," the man said. "She just never arrived and no one can locate her."

Sherlock studied the papers. "I will need to speak to her supervisor," Sherlock said. "And hold on to these, though I will return them to you unharmed."

The couple looked irritated at Sherlock's tone, but the man sent the wife to retrieve the worker. "I'll come with you," Sherlock said and took off with her.

"He's an irritant," the man said to Lestrade.

"But effective," Lestrade said. "I'm sure we'll have this all sorted soon."

John wished he could look at the papers, but he didn't want to over step Greg and ask Sherlock what they said. He didn't want to complicate anything.

When Sherlock had finished in the kitchen, he asked the woman to show him the library and then a small cupboard in the back of the house. When they returned to the main room, he announced, "I'll need to go to the wine cellar now." 

"Whatever for?" the man asked. "He's not down there, I can assure you."

Sherlock ignored the remark and stood there, waiting to be shown down. "You all come as well," he added to Lestrade, motioning to the two uniformed men. He'd let someone else decide if Lestrade's friend should hobble down.

John sighed with relief because that meant he could go down and see as well. "Yes, I should get a look at it, since everything started there," Greg said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It didn't really start here," he said. "But it's likely where it ended."

They went inside, and Sherlock looked around. "Is there a secret door in this room?" he asked.

"There are secret doors all over the house," the man said.

"In this room?" Sherlock asked impatiently. 

The man pointed to the opposite wall. Sherlock shifted a shelf out of the way and revealed a door. He took out his lens and looked closely at the gap between the wall and hatch. As he did, he said, "The papers say the treasure will be in here."

"There's no treasure in there -- nothing but rubbish," the man said.

"Someone's been in here recently," Sherlock said, noting the disturbance of dust, as he slowly opened the door. 

Inside the room was the crumpled body of a man.

The corners of Sherlock's mouth turned up just a little. "Found him," he said. He looked around and saw some bricks had been removed from the wall. He turned and saw the look on the owner's face. "Traditionally, behind loose bricks is one of the first places thieves look -- treasure map or not." He stepped back to let Lestrade's men in.

John gaped at the body. When did he get in there if he had been fired? Before he actually left the house? "But what happened?" he asked out loud, looking over at Sherlock.

Sherlock glared over at the new man for a moment and then turned to Lestrade. "Get the cook's details -- if she didn't do it, she knows who did."

"The cook? Wait -- how's she related to this?" Greg asked. John couldn't stop watching Sherlock.

"They were 'involved' or at least that poor sap believed they were," Sherlock said. "He found the map and she thought it was her ticket out."

John looked down at the corpse of the pathetic man. "What's that on his finger? Was he married?" John asked.

Sherlock moved out of secret room. "Drama. My guess is that was her final joke on the old man. She left him one piece of the treasure -- ironically a ring like he probably promised her at one time. She took the rest for herself as payback."

John paused for a minute, taking in Sherlock's story and the reality of the scene. Then he realised that Greg and the couple had left, and John and Sherlock were alone in the wine cellar.

Sherlock looked over at the new man, who clearly had questions. "They fire a long time employee just for finding some papers? Obviously not. Which meant either the treasure was real or there was some other impropriety going on. Or in this case both," he explained. "They obviously knew what was down here and all anyone needed to do was talk to the people she worked with -- they knew all about her using him and the money he claimed he'd be coming into. I'm sure the police would have figured it out . . . eventually."

John watched him talking, nodding his head as he followed along. "Well, it's a good thing he called you in then, huh?" He smiled as Greg came back in. 

"The boys are handling it the rest of it," Lestrade said. "We can go."

John smiled and nodded. "Sure. Good seeing you," he told Sherlock as he turned.

"Want a ride, Sherlock?" Greg asked.

Sherlock looked at Lestrade and then the man he still hadn't figured out yet. "All right," he said.

John glanced back and saw Sherlock was coming with them. He sat in the front like before. A few minutes later they were on their way.

Sherlock sat quietly, staring at the back of the man's head. When no one spoke, he leaned forward a little towards Lestrade and said, "Who is this person?"

John turned his head in surprise, looking over at Greg. "He's a friend of mine," Greg said. "Known him since uni."

Sherlock looked over at the man and then leaned up again behind Lestrade. "And why does he always seem to be here?" he asked.

John looked over at him again, brows slightly raised. "I'm sitting right here, you know," he said. 

Greg chuckled and shook his head. He didn't look bothered, as if this strange behaviour happened all the time. "I asked him to come," he explained. 

John appreciated that Greg didn't go any further with the details. He didn't want this guy knowing the whole story.

"Does he have a name?" Sherlock asked.

"Ask him, Sherlock. I'm driving," Greg said.

John looked at Sherlock and waited, even though he had heard the question. 

"What? You can't speak while you drive?" Sherlock grumbled. "I happen to know that to be untrue."

"No, I can't," Greg said, trying not to grin. He got them on the motorway and John leaned back in his seat, his head still turned in Sherlock's direction. 

Sherlock looked at the man but no one spoke, so Sherlock turned his head away and looked out the window. Five blue cars in a row passed them, and he wondered why. He waited for what seemed like forever and then, without looking away from the glass, asked, "What's your name?"

When Sherlock sat back John faced forward, looking out of his own window. He was an odd man. And then he spoke, and as John turned his head to look at Sherlock again, he noticed Greg's face -- he was genuinely surprised. "It's John," he said. "John Watson." John left it at that, wondering if the man was going to ask any more about him. John also wondered why exactly he wanted him to. 

"And, John Watson, why has your good old friend asked you to come along on crime scenes?" Sherlock asked.

John shrugged. "I've been bored," he said simply. 

"Will you continue to be attending them?"

"Whenever I'm allowed," he said. 

"And will you mainly be standing around doing nothing or are you planning to actually be useful?" Sherlock still hadn't looked away from the window.

"Standing and watching," John said easily. "Oh," he said as if he just remembered something. He turned to Greg. "The case about the professor is typed up, just let me know when to post it."

"Yeah, go ahead," Greg smiled. "You'll do this one, too?"

"If I'm allowed," John smiled. 

Sherlock sat forward. "What are you talking about?" he asked, asking either of them.

Greg glanced at John and didn't answer. John considered what he wanted to say before answering. "I keep a blog," he said. "I write about interesting things that happen to me. The cases are interesting." 

"And you approved this?" Sherlock said to Lestrade. "Since when has Scotland Yard opened a PTSD wing?" 

John flushed lightly, faltering as his mouth fell open a bit. He looked away from Sherlock as Greg shifted uncomfortable. 

"Sherlock, shut up," Lestrade said. 

"What? Is it a secret?" Sherlock asked.

"How did you figure that?" John asked, cutting off whatever Greg was going to say. 

"He told me," Sherlock said, pointing to Lestrade.

"I did not!" Greg shouted.

"Fine," Sherlock said. "You told me," he added, looking over at John.

"I did not. We've barely spoken until now," he said. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine then," he said. 

John waited. "So?" he said. "How do you know?"

"The way you walk, the look on your face, the way your mouth twisted at the dead man but you didn't look away," Sherlock said. "Your shoes. . ."

"Wha -- you're just listing nonsense," John huffed. 

"Fine, you're right, I just randomly guessed because I'm the luckiest punter in the world," Sherlock said. He humphed and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are we there yet?"

"I'm sorry, John," Greg said. "He's just observant. I should have warned you."

John shrugged. "It's fine. I'm not embarrassed about serving, or what it's done. I was just curious. Surprised."

"You've seen me work twice now," Sherlock muttered. "I don't know why it'd surprise you that I'm observant."

"I'm curious what exactly gave it away. What did you observe?" John asked. 

"You're obviously not thinking of training for the police so why else would you be coming to crime scenes -- because you're a 'writer'? You're not a writer," Sherlock said. "You know something, you're an expert at something, Lestrade wouldn't have brought you along if you weren't. So what are you an expert at? You're not a reformed master criminal, obviously. The way you looked at both bodies -- you were studying them. You know something about bodies. You're a doctor. You don't like violence but you're familiar with it. You've been to war. Both of those things Lestrade, or you, could have told me but you didn't. So there's a reason to keep it hidden . . . the limp, a shame maybe, but definitely a trauma." He looked out the window. "Those are the things I observed. And his reaction when I said PTSD, of course, confirmed it."

"I . . . that's amazing," John muttered. 

Greg rolled his eyes. "Don't encourage him."

"Should we all just ride the rest of the way in silence?" Sherlock asked.

John turned back to face the front and Greg turned on the radio. John wanted to ask a hundred questions, but he didn't.

Sherlock sat quietly. Eventually Lestrade pulled up in front of Baker Street. "Gentlemen," he said, before opening the door and disappearing behind the door marked 221.

"He is . . . something else," John said. "You didn't tell him about me?"

Greg shook his head as he drove off. "He's just like that. Once I saw him pick out someone who was from out of town based on the mustard stain on his shirt. That's just what Sherlock Holmes does."

When Greg dropped John off at his flat, he hesitated for a moment before turning back and looking at Greg. "Is Sherlock . . . um, seeing anyone?" The look on Greg's face made John's cheeks heat, regretting ever asking. 

"Sherlock? No way -- he doesn't even have friends," Greg said before he shook his head. "No, I mean . . . well, I guess I'm his friend. I don't know. You saw what he's like. Besides, he has no interest in other people like that."

John's brows furrowed. No interest? "Oh. Well, I was just wondering. I'll see you later." John got out of the car and went up to his flat, going straight to the desk. He posted the first case and then began to write up this one. A bit more of Sherlock slipped into this one, but then again this time they had actually spoken about the case so that made sense. That's what he told himself, anyway. 

At Baker Street, Sherlock had made a cup of tea and fallen asleep on the sofa again. When he woke up, he moved to the desk and began jotting down notes from his last few cases. However, the cases weren't what was really on his mind. He was wondering about this John Watson. He searched the name and found the so-called blog John had mentioned in the car. He read over the professor case, tutting aloud at the way it'd been portrayed. It seemed strange that Lestrade had never mentioned him before, but then Sherlock realised he'd never really talked about his personal life. Sherlock didn't even know his wife's name or actually, now that he thought about, if he even had a wife. Sherlock had no interest in people's personal lives. But for some reason, he did seem to have an interest in John Watson.


	3. Gingers

It'd been a few days since Greg had called, and John was getting bored. He kept proofreading the butler case, not sure if he should post it yet. It made him think of Sherlock, wondering what he did on his spare time when he wasn't working cases with Greg. John set his mug down and opened a new window to look for him. The first thing that came up was a website so John clicked on it. It seemed to be science-based, a dry forum of facts and numbers and experiments. John clicked out of it and looked for something else, but there wasn't much. He'd been expecting to see his name mentioned in articles about crimes since Lestrade implied Sherlock helped quite frequently. John went back to the science website and browsed through it. 

Then his phone rang, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Hello?"

"Fresh case, want to come?" Greg asked. 

"Yeah, I can be ready in ten minutes. What's the case?"

"Robbery, sort of," Greg said. "Can you meet me in town at the shop? I'll send the address. I'm closer to Baker Street so I'm just going to get Sherlock."

"No problem. See you soon." John got up to get dressed, finishing his tea as he went. 

The past few mornings, Sherlock had woken up feeling odd. This morning he lay there for a few minutes trying to figure out why. He had been dreaming -- he couldn't remember specifics but he felt like he should. He felt like the dream meant something, but as hard as he tried, nothing came to him. Eventually he dragged himself from the bed, slipping his dressing gown on and making a cup of tea. He had no intentions of interacting with the world today.

Until he received Lestrade's call, of course. He took a quick shower and got dressed. He went downstairs and stood outside the door to have a cigarette -- Mrs Hudson didn't like him smoking in the flat and usually he ignored her request, but for some reason today he'd decided to honour it. When Lestrade pulled up, Sherlock got into the car.

"I note the absence of your dear old friend," Sherlock commented. He was expecting to see John Watson and couldn't decide how he felt about his not being here. "Did he get too bored with you or too annoyed with me?"

"Neither. He is going to meet us there because I was closer to you," Greg said as he pulled away. 

"Is there a particular reason you're doing this with him? I mean, did you bully him at uni or something and now you're trying to make up for it?" Sherlock asked.

"No! I told you he was my friend, why would I have bullied him?" Greg asked. "Besides, you help your friends when they are in trouble."

"I don't have friends," Sherlock asked. "I help you -- only because you ask so very kindly," he added sarcastically before staring out the window a bit. "So he's in trouble?" he asked casually.

"Well, sort of." Greg glanced over at Sherlock. "It's just hard for him to be back. If you say anything, I'll make sure you never work a case again," he threatened. 

Sherlock pulled a face at the last remark but said nothing about it. "Shame . . ." he mumbled. "His injury . . . despite his limp, it's not his leg, is it? It's something that keeps him from working?"

Greg glanced at him again, now more curious than annoyed. "It's his shoulder. It caused a tremor and he can't operate anymore." 

"Interesting," Sherlock said. As the car pulled up to the scene, he saw John standing a little bit away from the scene. "Interesting," Sherlock repeated.

"Don't say a word, Sherlock," Greg warned before they got out. 

John walked over and waved his hand in a greeting. "They didn't believe that I was waiting for you," John said, pointing to the officer by the door.

"Try looking less like a bystander," Sherlock said as he walked past him and into the shop. He looked around first before asking any questions.

John rolled his eyes lightly and followed Greg inside, keeping close to him as he asked his questions but also watching Sherlock. He was bound to do something extraordinary again, and John didn't want to miss it. He started looking around himself, taking in what he could, hoping to see at least something of what Sherlock did. 

The shop owner handed Lestrade a list of missing items. Sherlock snatched it from his hands and looked it over. "These can't be worth more than £100. All this for just that?" he asked, looking first at the man and then at Lestrade. He couldn't decide who annoyed him more.

"There's something else," Lestrade said, urging the man to tell the whole story.

"Well, something odd is going on. See my delivery boy was telling me the other week about this group I should get involved with . . . you know, kind of a support group but maybe there'd be some women there or something," the man said awkwardly, running a hand through his thick, ginger hair. "It's hard for me to meet anyone . . ."

Sherlock made a noise to indicate that this story'd better be going somewhere relatively soon.

"Anyway, I started going each night, but it was just two guys really. They kept saying that this Friday there'd be some big event with lots of women, but mainly they just wanted me to organise some of their records, I guess. I do my own bookkeeping here, so I can do that even though it was really just data entry."

"What kind of club was this?" Sherlock asked impatiently. "Dating for boring cheapskates?"

Lestrade made a noise as if that would make all of them forget Sherlock's rudeness.

"It's for gingers," the man said. "I'll have you know there's still a lot of bigotry out there . . . Anyway, last night I went and there was no one there, just a sign saying the group had been disbanded. And then I come in here this morning and all these shovels have been nicked . . . you don't think that's unusual?" the man said.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "Perhaps," he said, opening them again. "Can I speak to the delivery boy?" 

"He didn't come in today," the man said. "I tried ringing him but it went straight to voicemail. That's when I noticed the stuff was gone and called the cops."

Sherlock looked around the place. "What shop's next door?" he asked anyone who knew the answer.

"Posh shite," the man said and then coughed. "I mean, jewellery and handbags and all that business rich ladies like."

"What's downstairs here?" Sherlock asked.

"Just a bit of a cellar, not much in it," the man said. 

"Can I have a look?" Sherlock said.

The man led the three of them downstairs where Sherlock walked around, stomping his feet a few times, and then took out a tape measure and noted the length of the wall. "Thanks," he said. They went back up and Sherlock directed them next door. He asked if they'd recently had anything go missing -- they hadn't -- but Sherlock asked to see their storage room, which was in the building's cellar. He used his tape measure again and then looked at the shop owner. "I suggest you double check your stock," he said. "I'm going back up. There are too many spiders down here." 

Lestrade stayed while the shop owner checked her safes. He and John went back up to find Sherlock outside the first shop.

"Nothing stolen," Lestrade said.

"Yet," Sherlock said. "The shovels weren't really stolen -- just used. There's been digging in the basement -- I'm guessing the delivery boy and one of the men from the group were just exploiting the man's obvious inferiority complex to just get him away from the building. They've been digging, clearly to get to the valuables next door. Get the kid and his friend for attempted. I'll give the man a hundred quid myself to shut him up about the loneliness of redheads."

Lestrade pulled a face at Sherlock and went back in to get the boy's details.

Sherlock turned and watched Lestrade leave. So…no ride back to the flat. He looked over at John. "You'll be writing about this then?' he asked, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes and lighter.

John nodded. "Yeah. As soon as I get home," he said, moving to the street to try to hail a cab. 

Sherlock turned and walked after him. "Where do you live then? We could share one if you'd like," he said, moving closer to the kerb and raising his hand.

"Not in your direction," John said. But then he looked away from the street and looked at Sherlock instead. "But I don't mind. We can drop you off first."

When a taxi pulled up, Sherlock opened the door for John and then got in on the other side. He gave the driver his address. As they pulled off, he looked over at John. "So I guess you'll be using the whole lonely hearts thing to add romance to this one?" he asked.

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, 'add romance'?"

"I accidentally read your blog," Sherlock said, looking out the window. "There seemed to be some non-facts included unnecessarily."

John smiled softly, finding himself very amused. "Well, a story keeps readers interested. An easy read will have them coming back for more. Unlike . . . what did I read? Oh right, 267 types of ash and how to identify them. Or something like that," he grinned. 

"243," Sherlock said quietly. After a few moments, he turned back to John and said, "Could I ask you a question without your immediately reporting it to Lestrade? I mean, could it stay just between you and me?"

John's teasing smile shifted to something softer. "Sure," he nodded. 

"When are you going to lose the cane?"

John's smile fell completely. "I need it," he said. 

"You don't," Sherlock said. 

"I do," John said.

"You don't," Sherlock repeated.

"You don't know what I need," John said. "My leg hurts. I need it."

"You're wrong," Sherlock said. "I know precisely what you need." He watched as the car pulled up to Baker Street. He pulled a wad of notes out of his pocket and handed it to the driver. "Goodbye, John Watson," he said and walked away to the door.

John watched him go, angry and embarrassed. Who did he think he was? John was pulled out of his thoughts when the driver loudly demanded his address. John gave it, crossing his arms.

Sherlock went up to the flat and put the kettle on. As he waited, he took out a cigarette and lit it. Then there was a knock at the door. "Who is it?" he called, wondering if it was John Watson and realising he kind of wished it would be.

"It's me obviously," Mrs Hudson said as she came in. "Put out that cigarette."

"Fine," he said, dropping into a mug of soapy water, which was sitting in the sink. He reached for two clean mugs and dropped tea bags inside them.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"A case," he said, pouring the water.

"A special case?" she asked.

"No, not really," he said. "Why?"

"Because you have a strange look on your face," she answered.

"I do not," he said. "This is my normal face."

"Fine, Sherlock Holmes," she said. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But something's different, I know it is."

Sherlock took a long sip of tea.

As soon as John was in his flat he took out his phone and called Greg. "Very funny leaving me alone with him!" he said before Greg had even properly answered. 

"What happened?" Greg asked, but he sounded . . . eager. That made John even more angry.

"He's rude! He's insulting and . . . what were you playing at, exactly? Is this because I asked about him? You said it was useless."

"Well, not only that. He asked about you." That made John pause his ranting. Greg continued, "I mean, not in so many words but . . . he did ask. He's a bit awkward."

"Oh. It's awkward to accuse me of lying about being hurt and making fun of my cane?"

"He made fun of your cane?"

"Not in so many words," John said, throwing his words back at him.

Greg sighed. "John, I'm sure he didn't. I mean, not on purpose. He doesn't know how to interact properly. Don't give up. I've never seen him interested in anyone. Ever. And he called you interesting."

John sank down in the chair in front of the computer and sighed heavily. 

"Just . . . cool off and try it again, okay?" Greg suggested.

John hesitated. "Fine. I'm leaving you out of my next write up," he threatened uselessly before hanging up the phone. He opened the computer and, after taking a couple calming breaths, got to work.

Sherlock's phone vibrated. It was Lestrade.

"Why did you harass John Watson?"

Sherlock exhaled loudly. "Do you have another case for me?" he asked.

"Don't, Sherlock, just . . . don't," Lestrade said. "He's a good guy -- smart and . . . well, you know him now so just . . . think, all right? And if you're not sure it's a good thing to say, don't say it."

"I have no idea to what you are referring," Sherlock said even though he did. "Please ring back when you've got a case," he added as he hung up.

Very annoying. In fact so annoying that for some reason Sherlock couldn't stop thinking about it as he made another cup of tea and checked his emails. What was the point of that guy saying he wasn't going to tell Lestrade if he was immediately going to run and tell him? What was the point? When he realised he'd been thinking about it for twenty minutes, he knew he had to do something. He went back to John's blog and read the butler case write up. Romantic again. At the bottom of the post, he clicked "Add a Comment" and wrote:

_This man cannot be trusted. He is a snitch._

When the page had refreshed, a new post had been added. John must be writing on the blog at the same time as Sherlock'd been reading. Sherlock featured more heavily in this one -- there was a brief description of him as "tall, mysterious and handsome" which Sherlock found quite flattering even though he immediately tried to deny to himself that he had. But there was no way he could deny being flattered by John's explanation of his deductions -- the word amazing stood out and Sherlock quite liked that. He added a comment to this one as well.

_Finally some truth._

He stared at his comment and then thought about the other one he'd left. He was relatively sure it was precisely the kind of thing Lestrade wanted him to not do. He closed up his computer and decided he needed to stop thinking about all of this for a while.

John was about to log off when he saw the comments jump to two. He clicked on the icon and read both, furrowing his brows. He didn't know what they meant really. What truth were they referring to? He didn't reply back, but he stayed online to see if more would be coming through. 

When nothing came through for a good ten minutes John assumed the person must have logged off, or else wasn't interested in anything else. He closed the computer and went to get ready for bed, more aware of his cane now than ever before. Psychosomatic or not, the pain was real. Did Sherlock think he liked stumbling around like this? That he wouldn't stop if he could? It didn't matter. He didn't care what Sherlock thought about it. He got ready for bed and tried not to think about it as he fell asleep. 

At Baker Street, Sherlock was still awake, still trying to make himself stop thinking about all of this for a while.


	4. The Game Is Already Afoot

The next morning Sherlock awoke late. In fact, it was afternoon. Once again, he had the feeling that he had dreamt something important, but once again, couldn't remember what it was. He tried to shake that feeling off in the shower and then headed out, first stopping at Mrs Hudson's door to see if she needed anything bringing in. She was a little surprised, but figured she might as well request a few scratchcards if he was offering.

John had been up early from another nightmare. The only good thing about it was that it had been at least a week since the last one. He got a cup of tea and then fell back to sleep. When he woke again, it was later than he'd expected. He showered, then decided to go out and get groceries so he didn't end up wasting the whole day. He thought to check the blog but decided against it.

Sherlock headed into the shop, picking up some milk and a box of tea. He joined the queue and that's when he saw him: John Watson and his cane, loitering around the frozen food section. What was he doing here? Was he stalking Sherlock? Surely, this was too big of a coincidence. He paid and then moved to the kiosk to pick up some cigarettes, papers, and the scratchcards, but he kept his eye on John the whole time.

John filled his basket as he moved around the store slowly, making his way to the tills.

Sherlock moved over quickly, stepping in behind John. "I see you," he said, leaning forward so his voice was in John's ear.

John jumped lightly and turned around, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock. "Are you following me? Go away." He turned back around and faced the front.

"You're going to go snitch on me again then?" Sherlock asked.

That specific word made John turn again, his eyes narrowed again. "Were you commenting on my blog? I didn't snitch."

"Did so," Sherlock said. "I specifically asked if you were going to tell Lestrade about our conversation and you did exactly that -- snitched."

"I made that promise before you acted like an arse. Besides," John paused so he could move up with the line. "Besides, I had to let him know that his little . . . experiment, or whatever, failed."

"What experiment?" Sherlock asked, not understanding at all.

John rolled his eyes. "Don't act like you didn't notice -- you, of all people. The way he kept pushing us together and then leaving us alone yesterday. He was so obvious." John picked up his basket and moved forward again. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Sherlock said. He stood there a bit stupidly and then said, "Just stop bothering me" before walking out of the shop.

"Sir? Sir!"

John snapped his eyes away from the door and paid for his groceries, leaving as quickly as he could. As he walked home, he bumped into Greg. They talked for a few moments about the blog, but John decided not to say anything about his encounter with Sherlock. They parted when they got to John's flat, and he went upstairs to put away his purchases.

Sherlock had immediately lit a cigarette and started to walk when he'd left the shop. He thought about calling Lestrade, but he got the feeling he was being left out of something between those two and he didn't like that one bit. Instead he walked home and knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. 

"Here are your scratchcards," he said when she answered.

"What's wrong?" she asked immediately.

"Nothing," he answered.

"Liar," she said, pulling him in, which is kind of exactly what Sherlock had wanted her to do. He sat down at her table while she put the kettle on. "So you're confused, I take it," she said.

"No," he said. "Possibly."  
  
"Does this involve another person?"

"Maybe," he said.  
  
"Okay, so you're confused. Who is this person and what have they done to get your head all muddled up?" she asked, bringing over the tea.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said. "And another man."

"A criminal?"  
  
"No, supposedly a friend of his," Sherlock said. "He's been coming on the cases and he has a cane even though he doesn't need it and he's writing a blog about me and I just saw him at the shop and I've been having these dreams I can't remember when I wake up."

Mrs Hudson took a sip of tea. "I see," she said. After a few moments, she asked, "And is this man handsome?"

Sherlock said nothing. He took a drink instead.

"So that's a yes," she said. "And you want to . . . get to know him but Greg's interfering?" 

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "No, I don't know . . . I don't think that's it."  
  
"Which part?"

"He _is_ interfering, I think. John made it seem like this was Lestrade's plan from the get go. He called it 'his experiment'," Sherlock explained.

"So the handsome man's called John?" Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock took another sip of tea.

"Are you honestly telling me you're thinking of pouting away a possible friendship? Why do you think Greg wanted to introduce you? He knows you quite well, Sherlock -- did you ever stop to think he might be doing something kind, that maybe this handsome John is exactly what you need?"

Sherlock put his mug down. "I should be the one to know what I need," he said and stomped out. Not unlike a child would do. He went upstairs and flopped onto the sofa, but that wasn't very satisfying. He took a hot shower but that didn't help. Finally he decided to sort this once and for all. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Lestrade.

_I don't want him at any more crime scenes. SH_

There. Sorted. He got up to make himself another cup of tea.

_Yes, you do. -GL_

Sherlock grabbed his phone and read the reply. He had not been expecting that.

_I do not. SH_

_Too bad. -GL_

_I won't help if he's there. SH_

_Yes, you will. -GL_

Sherlock exhaled loudly. What was going on?

_What is going on? SH_

_Think like a normal person for just once in your life, Sherlock. He asked about you. -GL_

So, Sherlock thought, John had been right. Lestrade was behind all this, bringing the two of them together. But was Mrs Hudson right as well? Should Sherlock trust all this?

_Irrelevant. SH_

_And you asked about him. -GL_

Sherlock thought about that for a moment. He _had_ asked about John. Not just to find out about him -- he'd figured John out in the car that day. Why had he asked about him again? Why had he read the blog? Why had he left those comments? 

_I don't want to get involved in this game. SH_

_The game is already afoot. -GL_

Sherlock tossed his phone on the chair. This had suddenly become ridiculous. He went back to the kitchen and poured himself some tea. Then his phone vibrated. It was Lestrade again, but this time it was just a series of numbers.

_What does this mean? SH_

_It's his phone number. You would have asked for it eventually, I just got bored of waiting. -GL_

Sherlock stared at the text when another one appeared.

_Trust me. -GL_

Sherlock sat down and took a sip of tea. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled. He opened a new text and typed in the number.

_It's me. SH_


	5. Interested

_Who is this? -JW_

But the signature registered and he shook his head.

_How on earth did you get my number? -JW_

_Does it matter? Would you be interested in coming to Baker Street? SH_  
_Or I could come to yours? SH_  
 _Or we could meet somewhere else? SH_

Sherlock took another deep breath and tried to get a grip on himself.

_Just, would you be interested? SH_

John hardly had time to reply as the messages came in succession. He found himself smiling fondly again.

_I'd be interested in any of that. -JW_

_Then choose one. SH_

John looked around his small, almost empty flat.

_I'll come see you. -JW_

_221B Baker Street. Come right away if convenient. SH_

_I know the address. And it's very convenient, I'm half way there already. -JW_

John sent the message as he looked out of the cab window, moving closer to Sherlock's flat. This was going to be very interesting.

Sherlock jumped up from his chair and looked around the flat. He wasn't quite sure what he should do to get ready so he decided to mainly just walk around the flat aimlessly. Then he stood at the window until he saw John's taxi pull up to the kerb. Then he had a small panic attack. Then he walked down to answer the door.

"I'm here," Sherlock said. "I mean, this is it. Upstairs, I mean. Come up." He turned and headed up the stairs.

John followed slowly, letting Sherlock go first so he could take his time on the stairs. He noticed a woman staring and, when she caught John's eyes, she shut her door quickly. "Neighbour?" John asked as he neared the top of the step. 

"Landlady," Sherlock said. "And occasional muscle. She's killed three men on my behalf." He smiled a little as he stepped into the flat. "This is it. Where I live. My flat." He moved aside to let John come in. "Tea?" he asked, going to the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure," John said, looking around. It was messy and cluttered -- envelopes, papers, chemistry supplies -- John didn't know what to look at first. "Nice place," he said. "Can I ask . . . why the invite?" 

"Well, you know," Sherlock said. "To investigate."

"Investigate?" John asked. "I assumed after my behaviour at the shop I wouldn't hear from you again."

"Assumed or wanted? I suppose my curiosity got the better of me," Sherlock said, bringing the tea over and sitting down in his chair. "So what have you got to say for yourself?"

John looked around before sitting in the seat opposite Sherlock. "Nothing at all. I was justified," he smiled. 

"Justified about what?"

"My behaviour," John said. "Isn't that what you were talking about?"

Sherlock took a sip of tea. "Are you in love with me then?" he asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

John coughed into his tea. "What?" he asked, wiping his mouth. 

"Why are you asking about me? I mean you ask about me and then you write about me and then you're at the shop . . . I mean, what else could it be?"

"I'm interested in you," John said. "And the shop was a coincidence."

"So you're denying that you think I'm handsome?" Sherlock asked. "You wrote it, don't forget."

John took a big sip of tea. "No," he said. "That is also true."

Sherlock felt like smiling but decided not to. "And that's why you're in love with me? Just because I'm so incredibly handsome? Bit shallow, don't you think?"

"I am not! I'm not in love with you," he said. 

"Did you come all the way over here just to hurt me with your words?" Sherlock asked. "Fine. It's your right. Do you want to stay a bit or are you leaving now that you've made your feelings clear?"

"What? Hold on," John said. "I like you. I thought we could go out and get to know each other. Are you saying we have to be in love right now or it's a deal beaker?" 

"I have no idea," Sherlock said. "I don't know how any of this works."

"Are you going to stop seeing me?"

"Probably not," Sherlock said. "You're interesting. And you always seem to be where I am." Sherlock was relatively sure that wasn't a very romantic answer, but he kind of meant it to be.

"Well, dates are how it works. If you want to keep seeing me, you go out on dates with me. The love . . . that comes later. Maybe," John said.  

"Hmmm," Sherlock said suspiciously. "I'm not entirely sure that makes any sense, but if you want to stick with that story, that's fine. So we have to go on some kind of 'date' for this all to happen?"

"Well, yes," John said. "It's a good way to get to know each other."

"I've got to disagree there, John Watson," Sherlock said. "I'm not trying to be contrary, but I don't think our watching each other eat is going to give us the information we really need. What I need to know is more along the lines of how clever you are, how you are good at wrestling and how strong you are in the lovemaking department."

John coughed into his tea again and decided to just put it down before he choked. "I -- we don't have to go to dinner," he stammered. He took a deep breath. "I am very clever, as I am not only a doctor but a soldier and generally interested in a lot of different things. I am not so good at wrestling, but I do very well with fighting and hand to hand combat, and I would prefer to show you proof of my 'lovemaking' skills, but I can say I'll be one of the best you've ever had."

Sherlock smiled. "Well that takes care of my criteria. Do you have any questions for me?"  
  
John shrugged. "Well, now all I'm wondering is what kind of shag you're going to be."

"A damn good one," Sherlock said.

John grinned. "Well, we'll have to see about that," he said. 

Sherlock took another sip of tea to hide his smile. "So," he started as he set his mug down. "As I said, this is my flat. Why are you keeping yours a secret?"

"It's not a secret, really. It's just . . . empty," John said. "Not as interesting as all this."

"I'm not sure I believe that," Sherlock said. "You are quite interesting, John Watson." He smiled a little. "Should I show you around?"

"Sure," John nodded, curious to see if the rest of the flat was just as eccentric.

Sherlock stood up. "This is the sitting room where I . . . sit. You can see the kitchen, of course," he said as he led John down the short hallway. "This is the toilet and this is my bedroom where I . . . bed." He pushed the door open and took one step inside.

"Hmm. You have a nice place. This is a great flat," John commented.

"Comfortable bed," Sherlock mumbled before turning. "There's another room up the stairs," he said leading the way. He opened the door to the second bedroom. "This room is empty. It's doing nothing. No one lives in it. What do you think of that?"

John glanced up at him, then looked around the room. "Perhaps you should get a flatmate."

"I don't like people," Sherlock said. He stepped a little closer. "Usually." He looked at John for a moment and then stepped back, adding, "So I suppose you want to go get some food or something?"

John licked his lips and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said, his voice thick. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat a bit. 

"What do you like then?" Sherlock asked, still looking at John.

"For food? Anything really. I suppose I'm partial to Italian."

"That works splendidly," Sherlock said. "As I'm partial to a restaurant that serves Italian. Let's go." He moved to the door to get his coat.

John smiled and followed after him. "Is it close by?"

"Not too far," Sherlock said. "I know the man who owns it."  
  
"Yeah? You go there often?" John asked.

"Every time I need to stalk a criminal who loiters near its location," Sherlock said. "Angelo lets me stay however long I need without forcing me to order food."

"That's nice of him," John said.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Sherlock said. "See? Not everything thinks I'm rude and insulting." When they arrived, Sherlock opened the door to let John go in first.

"I never said they did!" John said as he walked inside, looking for a decent table.

"I suppose perhaps you didn't," Sherlock said, removing the "Reserved" sign from the front table and sitting down. "But you thought I was rude and insulting."

"I did," John admitted as they sat down by the window. "Your own table, huh? You weren't kidding."

"I'm a good man to know, John Watson," Sherlock said. "Sometimes." When Angelo brought a candle over, he introduced John and then ordered a bottle of wine. "Choose whatever you'd like. I'm sure it's all good."

John looked over the menu, glancing over at Sherlock as he did. "What's your favourite?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "I'll be honest with you, John. Whatever he brings with me, I move about the plate and eat a few bites, but I am always satisfied."

"Okay, fair enough. Will you be eating with me tonight?"

"I'll be pushing some of it about the plate and then eating a few bites, yes," Sherlock said. "I hope that I end up satisfied." He glanced over at John and then took a sip of wine.

John met his gaze. "I'm sure we can arrange that."

"You're bit cheeky, you know," Sherlock said and gave him a quick wink. Angelo came and took their order. "What should we talk about?"

At the same time Sherlock winked, John pushed his tongue against his cheek to make a suggestive bulge. He laughed and hid his face behind the menu until Angelo took it away. "Will you tell me about other cases you've worked?"

"All right, but some of them are quite gruesome, as in bodies covered in liquid not dissimilar to the one that will be covering the lasagna you just ordered," Sherlock said. "You still want to hear them?"

"Yes, I still want to hear them. I don't mind. I'm a doctor," John reminded him. 

Sherlock began to talk about the more extreme cases, noting John's reactions. He stopped talking when Angelo brought the food over, setting down a second bottle of wine as well. "Have I put you off your food?" he asked, smiling.

John shook his head. "I'm fine. The cases are fascinating. Have you thought about putting those on your website?"

"Why would I?" Sherlock asked, pushing some food around his plate before taking a bite.

"They're so interesting! People would love them. And if they knew what you could do they would bring you even more cases," he said. 

Sherlock looked up. "Do you think?" he asked. "I mean, I've had a few private clients which is nice as I get paid, but recently it's just been Lestrade's silly stuff. But I've got a website and I don't think it's ever got me one client."

"Well . . .I can't say I'm surprised by that," John teased lightly. "You should show people what you can do."

"I thought that's what I was doing," Sherlock said, taking a bite of food before mumbling, "I feel I'm being insulted but I'm not certain why."

"No," John said quickly. "No. It's just . . . the fact that you know about ash doesn't do anything for people. People are selfish. They want to know how that will affect them. If you start writing about your cases, the investigating and the amazing way you help people, they will want to be part of it."

"Amazing?" Sherlock said. He was smiling inside but doing his best not to show it.

"Yes," John said. "Yes, of course it's amazing, what you do."

"If you really feel that way, could I bother you to possibly say the phrase 'Sherlock, you are amazing' -- I'm just curious what it'd sound like," Sherlock said, letting a bit of his smile show.

John grinned. "Wouldn't it be better if you did something amazing for me to actually earn the phrase?"

"You're a cruel man, John Watson," Sherlock said, shifting in his chair. "Here . . ." he reached over and touched John's ear and then pulled his hand back -- there was a pound coin in his hand. "That was pretty amazing, wasn't it?" he grinned stupidly.

John laughed loudly, shaking his head. How was this the same rude man from the taxi a few days before? "I'm afraid you'll have to do better than that!"

Sherlock took a sip of wine and looked down at his plate. "That's the only trick I know," he said. "My grandfather taught it to me when I was five, told me it would charm anyone. I guess he was wrong."

John smiled fondly. "I didn't say I wasn't charmed," he pointed out.

"What are you doing to me, John Watson?" Sherlock asked.

"Not enough yet," John grinned.

Angelo came to the table, and Sherlock's cheeks felt warm and flushed. "Do you want coffee or anything or do you have to get going?" he asked.

"Do you want to walk for a bit?" John asked, looking forward to the fresh air.

"All right," Sherlock said. He waved to Angelo and then they headed out. He slipped his arm through John's, glancing over to make sure it was all right.

John grinned. "Are you drunk, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm just enjoying myself," Sherlock answered. "I don't usually . . . with other people. I'm sure Lestrade's told you."

"Not exactly that, but I'm glad that you're having a good time."

"Are you?" Sherlock asked. "Are you glad you came to Baker Street?"

"Yeah I am," John nodded. "This was a lot of fun."

"Should we head back to the flat or do you have to get home?" Sherlock asked.

John wondered what Sherlock's expectations were about a first date. "Perhaps I should get home . . ."

"Fair enough," Sherlock said. "Shall I just return your cane the next time I see you?

John stopped walking. He looked down and around and then down at his legs again. "I -- what did you do?" he mumbled. He didn't feel any pain -- he didn't even remember leaving the cane behind.

"I didn't do anything," Sherlock said. "I just invited you over, gave you a tour of my flat and took you to dinner. This," he added, motioning to John's lack of cane, "is certainly not my doing."

"I . . . Sherlock," John said. "Sherlock . . . you're amazing," he said, looking up from his legs to Sherlock. He leaned up and kissed his mouth softly. 

"Would you mind saying it again?" Sherlock said after the kiss.

"Sherlock, you are amazing," John said, kissing his mouth.

"I like hearing that, I think," Sherlock said. He put his arms around John. "It's a bit chilly . . . maybe we should go back to my flat."

"Okay," John nodded. 

Sherlock started to head home, holding tightly to John's hand.


	6. Amazing

When they got back to the flat, Mrs Hudson peeked out as they headed up the stairs.

"Oh, sorry, I just wanted to make sure it was you," she said. "Is this John the handsome doctor?"

Sherlock felt his face flush. "Doctor John Watson, this is my landlady, Mrs Hudson. Mrs Hudson, this is John."

"Hello," John said politely, lifting his free hand to wave at her. 

"Good night then," Sherlock said to her, glancing down at her wide smile. He pushed open the door. "A cup of tea," he asked, "or another glass of wine?"

"Another glass of wine," John said. "Just one more."

Sherlock moved to the kitchen and got out two glasses. He opened a bottle of wine and poured, and then returned to the sitting room. "So did you learn what you needed over dinner . . . that was how you were going to get to know me, right?"

John smiled. "I learned quite a bit," he said. "The good news is that I am eager to learn more, so hopefully you will agree to keep seeing me."

"I was already prepared to see you again," Sherlock said. "I may not know a lot about social interaction, but I do trust myself. I find you interesting . . . that means something. But I'd like to ask one thing," he added, his face taking a more serious look. "I'd rather not see anything about me on your blog -- except for my amazing crime solving skills, obviously. But nothing else, all right?"

John thought back to some of his recent cases. "You mean about our personal stuff? I won't write about that."

"I mean about the shagging," Sherlock said, taking a sip of wine as he watched John's face.

"Oh, I…no. I would never put that sort of thing on the blog." He smirked. "Not the professional one."

"I'm going to assume that is a joke and that you don't have a second career as some kind of pornographer," Sherlock said. "So you think there might be shagging at some point?" He'd finished his wine but wasn't sure whether or not he should get up for another.

"I assume so, since you've mentioned it more than once tonight," John teased, smiling at Sherlock. "And I do like the idea of it."

"And when do you think this 'idea' might occur?" Sherlock asked. He sat forward a little. "I suppose what I'm really asking is . . . would you like to go into my room right now to see just how comfortable my bed is?"

John grinned. "That's exactly what I was waiting for."

Sherlock stood up and then moved towards his bedroom. 

John drained his glass and followed behind Sherlock, biting his lip as he tried not to grin. 

When they got inside the bedroom, Sherlock turned and pushed John roughly against the door, kissing his mouth hard as he gripped John's hips. John made a small sound of surprise before he returned the kiss hungrily, already rolling his hips and pulling Sherlock close so he would feel it. Their back and forth had started making him hard, and he wanted Sherlock to feel how much he wanted this. Sherlock made a small growl as he softly bit John's bottom lip. He moved a hand to palm John through his jeans before trying to get his trousers unbuttoned. John kept tilting his head to keep the kiss going, lacing his fingers into Sherlock's hair to keep him there. Sherlock's body pressed hard against John's and then he stepped backwards, pulling John with him as he moved them towards the bed. He turned them both and pushed John onto the mattress. 

"Fuck, let's get these clothes off," Sherlock said, sitting up a bit and starting to pull on John's jumper.

John shifted and handled his own clothes, working quickly and hoping Sherlock was as well. 

Sherlock stripped himself of his own clothes. He moved and reached into the bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. "I haven't used one in a long time, but they're still good," he said, leaning back against the pillow and pulling John to him. He slid his hand down John's body and began stroking his cock. John kissed Sherlock's mouth, his own hand reaching down and stroking him slowly. 

"Fuck," Sherlock exhaled again. He let his hips rock. He could feel his whole body heating. He moved his mouth to John's neck and sucked the skin there.

"There's so much I want to do to you," John murmured, his hand moving faster on Sherlock as he rutted his own hips. 

Sherlock let another noise escape from his throat. He lifted his other hand to John's chest, roaming it before moving to a nipple and squeezing lightly. John sighed, dipping to kiss his neck and make his way down slowly. Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of John's mouth on his skin. He lifted a hand to the back of John's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. John kissed over his belly, his hand still stroking Sherlock's cock as he got closer. 

Sherlock pushed his hips up a bit, closer to John. "Please," he mumbled. "Don't tease."

"It's not a tease if you follow through, love," John smiled and moved lower, taking Sherlock into his mouth. 

Sherlock moaned loudly, as he pulled on John's hair. He lifted his hips to push a bit further into John's mouth. John let Sherlock push in, humming as he moved, which only caused more noises to come from Sherlock's mouth as he tried to make words. "God, it's good," he managed to say.

John hummed as he hollowed his cheeks, moving up and down. He opened the lube and poured a bit, rubbing with his fingers. Sherlock pulled his head up so he could look down at John. He separated his legs a bit, lifting his hand to touch John's cheek. John pushed one finger inside, pumping slowly. 

"Yes, slow first," Sherlock said, watching John's face. "It's been a long time . . . but it feels good . . ." He slowly closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow.

John nodded around his cock, moaning softly as he moved. Sherlock's hand moved to cover his face for a moment as he thought about his breath. He was a little worried he wouldn't last long enough for John, who clearly had a lot of experience in this department. He ran his hands through his hair and opened his eyes again, watching as John stretched him more. 

"Okay," Sherlock exhaled. "You'll have to come kiss my mouth now . . . it's almost too much." He reached down to encourage John to move up to kiss him.

John pulled off of his cock and came up to kiss him. "Ready?" he asked between kisses. 

Sherlock nodded into the kiss. "Slow," he mumbled.

John nodded, reaching down to put a condom on before pressing the tip to Sherlock, pushing into him slowly. 

Sherlock moaned loudly. "Fuck," he called. "Don't stop." He reached for John's head, pulling it down to his mouth, kissing him roughly. The kiss made John sink in deeper. He moaned into the kiss, starting a slow, steady rhythm.

Sherlock kept kissing John, nipping at his lip before moving to suck on his earlobe. "It's good, John," he mumbled softly.

"Amazing," John huffed, moving his hips faster, pressing harder into Sherlock. 

Sherlock smiled against John's ear. Then he pushed himself up and rolled them over, adjusting slightly as he began to roll his hips, taking John in deeper. He put an arm on each side of John, leaning over him, watching his face.

"Fuck," John moaned, gripping Sherlock's hips as he rolled his own upwards for more. 

"John Watson," Sherlock moaned, pushing himself up again and letting himself ride John's movements. He dropped a hand to his own cock and began stroking it steadily as the speed of the thrusts increased.

"You're so sexy . . . you feel perfect," John moaned underneath him.

"Shh . . ." Sherlock said. He leaned over again and put his mouth near John's ear. "Say amazing again and make me come," he growled.

John laced his fingers into Sherlock's hair and tugged so his mouth was by Sherlock's ear. "Your tight arse feels amazing on my cock," he said before biting the lobe. 

Sherlock moaned loudly as he felt his cock explode in his hand, spilling over John's belly. His body tightened, holding John's cock within him.

John called out, coming inside of Sherlock as he gripped his hips hard, thrusting up to go deeper. 

Sherlock panted against John for a few minutes and then moved gently to lie beside him. "Yeah," he said, without looking over at him.

"Amazing," John murmured as he panted to catch his breath. 

"It's good to know you're no liar," Sherlock said. "Tonight has been the most enjoyable night I've had in a long time."

John grinned. "And that's only the beginning."

Sherlock was quiet for a few moments. "I hope you're right," he said, turning onto his side. "I don't know what Lestrade has told you but I imagine you should listen to him and I hope you've listened to me as well. I don't do this, John, I just . . . don't. But I have with you. You're not anonymous, you're not someone it'd be easy to never see again. I've done this because I wanted to, because I want this to be the beginning of . . . something, I don't know what, but . . ." His voice trailed off as he hadn't quite expected to say all that. He rolled onto his back again. "I guess I just mean, I'm keen on you." 

John scooted over and cuddled close to Sherlock, resting his head on his chest. "I like you too, Sherlock. A lot."

"Should you just stay the night then?" Sherlock asked. "I mean, I'd like you to."

"I would like that as well," John said, nodding against his chest.

"Are you going to be hungover in the morning? Do you need any tablets or anything?" Sherlock asked.

"No, I'll be okay," he said softly.

"Should I get you something -- water or pajamas or whatever? I've never had a sleepover . . . not even as a kid. I don't want to seem like a bad host," Sherlock said, smiling even though he was a little unsure.

"You just stay right where you are," John whispered, snuggling closer to Sherlock. 

"All right then," Sherlock said. He wrapped an arm around John and closed his eyes as he listened to John's breathing. John settled in comfortably, letting himself drift off and fall asleep against him. 

Sherlock didn't really sleep -- after a few hours, he drifted in and out, but sleeping was never his strong point and doing so with someone new in the flat proved to be too much. But the rest did him good -- his body was tired in a completely new way. When he noticed sunlight peeking through the curtains, he reached for his phone to check the time and at the precise moment he got a hold of it, it vibrated, startling him a bit. He read the text.

_Case. See attached information. Meet in one hour. -GL_

John shifted when Sherlock moved. "What is it?" he asked softly. 

"It's morning, we had sex last night, and Lestrade's just contacted me about a new case," Sherlock said, sitting himself up a bit on the bed.

"Hmm. I only like one of those things," John said before yawning and stretching his whole body. 

"Do you regret it?" Sherlock asked quickly, watching as John's body moved on his bed.

"Are you not properly awake and listening yet?" John asked, smiling up at him. "I said I liked one of those. I promise it was the sex."

"I'm just double checking," Sherlock said. "You know, suave, sexy doctors probably do things like this all the time . . . observant consulting detectives don't. Just checking. . ."

"I don't, though," John said, looking over at him again. "I enjoyed this with you, a lot."

"I enjoyed it too," Sherlock said, smiling back. "I've got to go meet Lestrade in an hour, though, which I know is probably impolite after something like this."

John smiled. "Well, I'll be eager to write about it," he said. "And do it in a way that might draw you some business."

Sherlock smiled back and leaned over to give him a little kiss on the cheek. "I need some tea," he stated before standing up and sliding his trousers on.

"That sounds lovely," John said. He stretched again before sitting up and getting dressed, smiling softly as he had to move about the room a bit for his clothes. He used the bathroom and made his way out to the kitchen, pulling out his phone to check it. "Oh," he said in surprise, seeing Lestrade's massage. He listened to it, looking at Sherlock the whole time. "Greg wants to pick me up for the case," he said. 

Sherlock's brain processed the information. "I see," Sherlock said. "I imagine he'll be a little curious when you tell him your current location is 221b Baker Street." He smiled a bit cheekily over at John.

John nodded, looking at his phone and then at Sherlock again. "So I should tell him to just come here then, right?"

"Yeah, go ahead. We'll see how long it takes him to figure out what's happened," Sherlock said. He put the kettle on. "I'm going to take a quick shower -- will you pour this when it boils? You can take one after me if you'd like."

John nodded and opened a message to reply. "You don't care?" he asked as he typed the message out.

"I suppose I don't," Sherlock said. "I mean, unless you'd rather he not know. This is unusual for me, yes . . . but I'm not ashamed or anything." He stood there for a minute. "So should I go shower or what?"

"I'm not ashamed either. Yeah, go ahead. I'll text him," John said. 

_I'm at Sherlock's, you can pick us both up. -JW_

Sherlock moved into the bathroom, quickly jumping into the shower. He thought about what was going to happen when Lestrade arrived. He hadn't been lying -- he wasn't ashamed -- but he was a little anxious. He'd literally never been in this situation before, and that was a feeling he didn't particularly like. But he liked the other feelings John inspired. He still wasn't quite sure what made John so different, but something was there and Sherlock knew that meant something. He stepped out and dried off, slipping his dressing gown on to nip back into his room to get dressed. He came back out and said, "Is he coming here? Do you want to shower?"

"Yeah, well, he hasn't actually replied so I assume so," John said, handing Sherlock a mug and sipping from his own. "I think I will shower, if you don't mind."

"All right," Sherlock said. "There's some extra towels in there and you can use the shampoo if you want." He took a drink of tea. "I think I'll check my email."

"Thanks," John said. He went into the bathroom, climbing into the shower and trying not to imagine Sherlock naked in there minutes before. He failed, but he grinned knowing that he could see him that way whenever he wanted to. He hurried to finish and then dressed again, coming out to find him.

Sherlock didn't find much of interest in his email. He stared out the window for a few moments, listening to the noises in the flat that weren't being made by him. Odd but he kind of liked it. He wondered what it would be like if John were here all the time. When John reappeared, Sherlock stood up and put his mug in the sink. "Are we, um, going to tell him what's going on or just say nothing?" he asked, before quickly adding, "Don't tell him about the thing in the bedroom, okay?"

"I'm sure he's going to figure it out," John said. "I won't mention it, of course, but he will know. That's why I wanted to make sure you were sure before." He couldn't tell if Sherlock was regretting this.

"I am sure . . . but don't tell him details, right?" 

"I promise," John said.

"You liked it all, though, right?" Sherlock asked, his voice a little quieter.

John walked over and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, kissing him soundly on the mouth. "It was amazing, Sherlock."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Because I also enjoyed it and would maybe like to do it again," he added as he stepped towards the door to get his coat.

John moved to get his coat as well. "We can do it again whenever you want," he said.

Sherlock stepped close to John, crowding him against the door. "Right now then?" he asked cheekily. "In the five minutes before Lestrade arrives to take us to a crime scene?"

John nodded slowly. "If you really want to, that could be easily done," he smiled. 

"No," Sherlock said, stepping back a bit. "I liked it slow," he added, smiling as he remembered. 

John grinned. "I'll show you slow," he grumbled as he opened the door. 

They headed downstairs and stood on the step. Sherlock lit a cigarette as they waited for the car.

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and then flicked the cigarette away. "I won't kiss you if your mouth tastes like that," he said. He grinned and looked out at the street as the car approached. 

Sherlock frowned. "Those don't grow on trees, you know," he said. "You owe me two quid for that." He stepped forward moving behind John as they walked to the car and mumbled under his breath, "And besides you will kiss me . . . it didn't stop you last night." He opened the back door and climbed inside.

John grinned and got into the front seat, doing a double take to meet Greg's gaze. "What?"

Greg looked him over and shook his head. "No clean laundry?"

John's brows furrowed for a moment before he remembered seeing Greg yesterday, wearing the same clothes. "Plenty," John said. "But not where I could get to it."

Sherlock listened to the two of them. It took him a minute to understand. "Did you see John yesterday then?" he asked Lestrade.

"Indeed, I did," Greg said, glancing up into the mirror with an incredibly smug look on his face.

Sherlock saw the look and then turned his head towards the window. "So did I," he said. "Twice. Once at the shop and then again at Baker Street." He paused for a second. "Which is where I saw him again this morning. When I woke up." He looked over at John in the passenger seat and smiled a little.

John smiled back at him. "Don't forget that you saw me at Angelo's last night."

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I saw him at Angelo's. Over candlelight." He sat back a little and looked out of the window. "If you feel the need to make any kind of smug or sarcastic remark, you may do so now," he added to Greg. "Though before you do, I'd like to say thank you. And don't ask why. You know why."

Greg looked more smug than ever, grinning over at John who turned to look out of the window.   
"Well, you two are the smartest people I know, in different ways, of course," Greg said, looking forward as he drove. "And also the biggest idiots -- again in different ways. I thought you would make a good team."

"I think you're probably right," Sherlock said. "This time." He sat forward. "All right, give us the details about where we're going. John and I have a case to solve."


End file.
